The Artful Dodger
by cinomarsh
Summary: How Dodger met Nancy and Fagin, and how he got his name. One-shot, pre-storyline. Don't own.


Nancy was working at the tavern one night when a little boy with a tattered blue coat, black top hat and messy hair to match walked inside and sat down at the bar. Nancy couldn't help but notice the tired expression he wore and the way he held himself; far beyond his years.

"Shot o' gin, thanks." The boy said, resting his hat on the counter and running a hand through his hair without looking up. Nancy laughed.

"I can't give you gin, lad! 'ow old are ya, nine? Ten?" The boy looked up at her, glaring.

"I'll 'ave you know, miss, that I am eleven years of age!" Nancy laughed again. This time the boy's expression changed, his eyes widening and his face turning sad.

"Oh, please miss? I've been out there all day, bein' chased around! All on me own, I am! It's awful rough. Please?" Nancy looked at the boy for another minute before filling a glass half full with gin and sliding it across the table to the child. He grinned at her.

"Much obliged!" He said, dipping his head and returning his hat to it before taking a huge gulp of the gin. Nancy chuckled again.

"Proper gentleman, you are..." She muttered. "What's your name, lad?" She asked after the boy had taken his second swig.

"Jack." He said, wiping the excess gin from his chin. "Jack Dawkins." He reached across the table to her.

"Nancy." Said Nancy, shaking Jack's hand. "Where're you from, Jack?"

"London." Jack told her.

"Not very 'elpful."

"Well, I live all over London. Like I says, all on me own." Another swig of gin.

"Don't 'ave any money to pay for that gin, 'ave ya?" Nancy asked.

Jack shook his head. Nancy smiled.

"This one's on me. Don't tell me other customers." Jack grinned at her and shook his head so much that Nancy thought he might shake his hat clean off. The idea of this poor boy all alone in this cruel city made her stomach turn. She thought about Fagin and his boys and it gave her an idea.

"Ever picked a pocket Jack?" Nancy asked. Jack nodded, smiling.

"Loads." He told her.

"Come on," She said, "There's someone you ought to meet."

Jack followed Nancy through a couple of dark alleys. He knew that trusting her was a risk, that she could be turning him in right now, but somehow he knew she wouldn't. Something in the way she acted and talked led him to believe that she'd picked a few pockets, too. Not to mention he liked her. She wore a lovely (if a bit old) red dress and she had beautiful ginger hair.

She led him up a flight of stairs to the door of a broken down old building with the windows boarded up. Nancy knocked on the door without a moment's hesitation.

"Who's there?" An aging male voice demanded.

"Nancy, you old fool!" Nancy called inside, "I've found another one!"

The door opened just enough for an eye to peer through, and then it flew open to reveal an old man with a torn green coat and an orange beard. He was old, no doubt about it, but he seemed to be full of life and energy somehow.

"And who," he asked, looking at Jack, "might you be?" Jack gulped.

"Name's Jack. Jack Dawkins." The old man nodded and extended his hand to the boy, who tentatively shook it.

"I'm Fagin, and I hope to have the honor of your intimate acquaintance." He said, winking at Nancy. Nancy smiled at him and then looked to Jack.

"I'm sure I'll see you back in my pub soon." She said, and Jack couldn't help but smile and nod. With that, Nancy descended the stairs and Jack turned his attention back to Fagin.

"This way, this way, my boy!" He beckoned, and the boy carefully followed him into the gloom of the building.

It was set up almost like a dormitory. All along the rafters there were little bundles of blankets that Jack could only assume to be makeshift beds. There were pocket handkerchieves hanging from a clothesline and a small area at the back of the room that seemed to be a kitchen. And there were boys everywhere. There were boys talking and smoking and playing cards all over the place, but they all fell silent when Jack and Fagin entered the room.

"Boys," Fagin announced, "we have a new recruit. Tell everyone your name, boy." Everyone looked at Jack now. He cleared his throat.

"Jack Dawkins."

"And what do you do, Jack Dawkins?" Fagin asked. Jack looked at the floor.

"I don't know, just... Dodge the beat, I guess." Fagin chuckled.

"Well now, Dodger, that's what most of us spend our time doing. Let me put it this way... Have you ever picked a pocket?"

Dodger beamed.


End file.
